


The Northern Queen's Essosi Sell Sword

by GreenseerofGondor



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Independent North (ASoIaF), Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Season/Series 08, Pregnancy, Queen in the North, Rare Pairings, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, The North (ASOIAF), The North Remembers (ASoIaF), Unplanned Pregnancy, Warging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23292418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenseerofGondor/pseuds/GreenseerofGondor
Summary: Daario Naharis reels from the life and death of Daenerys Targaryen. He faces unpleasant truths and makes even more unpleasant plans. Sansa Stark rules as best as she can, but a lover would be nice, perhaps.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Bran Stark & Sansa Stark, Daario Naharis/Sansa Stark, Meera Reed/Bran Stark
Comments: 20
Kudos: 42





	1. Vengeance

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't really know what the hell this is. However, I am also as excited as hell. This is a really rare pairing and I am super excited to explore it!
> 
> This will be a lot grittier and different from my other stories but please give it a chance. It will be 20,000 words as that feels the right length to cover this narrative. 
> 
> DaarioxSansa

****

**Daario Naharis**

The insidious whispers hadn’t taken long to reach Daario Naharis’ ears. If he had a choice he’d have rather cut them off then learn of Daenerys’ defeat. She had left so strong. Daario had wagered Westeros would topple in mere months. With three gargantuan dragons, a mounted force of innumerable Dothraki and an grounded army of Unsullied thousands strong her victory was inevitable. Each portion of Daenerys’ militant legion were devout in their following, to die for her would be an honor.

Daenerys had asserted herself as something otherworldly, a celestial essence contained to a mortal vessel. To the dragons she was their mother, their rescuer from an eternity of a stone prison. The Unsullied saw her as their liberator and transferred over complete fealty from their masters to her. The freed people from Yunkai, Astapor and Meereen called her Myhsa, their savior from bondage. And she was the ultimate expression of strength and power to the Dothraki. Their Khaleesi was impervious to fire, one of the most primal and devastating elements on Planetos. Through her dragons and magic she was flame incarnate. Daenerys inspired fanatical loyalty and that was one of her greatest strengths. So with such a formidable and stalwart force, how could Daenerys fail? She was a born conqueror, designed to invade and dominate.

However, it was the conquering that proved to be Daenerys’ bane, not the ruling. His queen never had the chance to even sit on the Iron Throne. It seemed that Westeros was simply unworthy of Daenerys. The whispers he caught snippets of implied that she had been betrayed by some of her closest allies. She went to Westeros with the sole intention of seizing the Iron Throne; not involving herself in the conflicts between the squabbling Houses and factions.

But like her idol, Aegon the Conqueror, Daenerys wouldn’t be satisfied with only being its queen, but also vested personal interest in the problems of her people. She wanted to unify as much as invade. And as admirable as it was, it got her killed. Because she took the time to garner superfluous alliances and serve the whims of these allies she was weakened to the point of defeat. Ellaria Sand and her daughter were taken captive and left to rot by Cersei. Olenna Tyrell was killed at Highgarden. And Euron Greyjoy possessed too great a portion of the Iron Fleet’s strength. In the end her empathy was her downfall as she spread herself too thin and invested in the wrong causes.

_Ugh, she should have taken me with her!_

Daario whirled around and knocked the crystal wine jug off the table. He watched it splinter into thousands of fragments and felt it the same as his broken heart. The Dornish Red seeped through the cracks of the shattered container and spilled across the tile floor. Daario turned away in disgust. Disgust at himself, at the people of Westeros, and even at his queen. Try as he might, he could not help but resent Daenerys for the foolish mistakes she made and her grave miscalculations. Yet, it was the personal rejection she inflicted upon him that haunted him still. He had begged to accompany her west, to be her most steadfast protector-of both her heart and body. Daario would have loved her until the end of his days, even if it meant watching her marry a total stranger.

The sell sword had no illusions about the demands that being a monarch were, marriage was an absolute necessity. But as long as she had her in his arms at night, and him in her heart, he could endure a sham union. He had been stupid enough to think that she would feel the same about him, experience the intoxicating allure of attraction, and even love. He had made the ultimate mistake of believing she had equivalent affection for him. In the end he was only a cock to fill her cunt, and a body to warm her bed.

_And it didn’t take long for her to find a replacement more to her liking. Jon Snow. Jon Snow. Bloody Fucking Jon Snow. King in the North or whatever the cunt styled himself as. He was no king like Daario was not the High Septon of the Seven! This bastard who had the balls to claim Targaryen parentage had rebelled against Daenerys before she even made an indentation in the sand of Dragonstone._

_Snow was nothing more than a fucking opportunist reaching beyond his station and what he deserved. The world owed me nothing, and especially not Daenerys. Then again I had done the same with my cock headed blunder of courting the Khaleesi. All I got for his efforts was a dusty city that reeked of piss, blood and men’s seed. A hollow prize in place of a goddess who walked among men. Men like me who she enchanted with her perfect tits, supple skin and a fiery soul that contrasted her icy silver hair. I grew blind to the only constants in life: gold, blood and glory. If a frozen savage was his Queen’s man of choice, he would leave her memory to perish with the accursed Queenslayer she was idiot enough to fuck and love. There is no place for me here in Meereen. I am not hers to use anymore or fuck on command._

_I did my damned hardest to hold this shit show of a city together, and it still wasn’t enough. She never came back or sent for me. She might be dead, but I am still alive. I am done playing the deft politician and coy schemer. I wasn’t built to rule. I was built to kill, get paid and fuck: the best life had to offer._

Daario slid his growing hair back out of his eyes. He had allowed it to become unruly and long because he figured Daenerys favored it that way. But now it would only be a hindrance, a blind spot for enemies to hide behind and a weakness to be exploited by anyone brave enough to pull it. He would have to cut it. Daario stomped through the wreckage of the delectably designed wine decanter and admired the sting of the glass biting into the leather sole of his boot. The sting wasn’t too deep as to impair his mobility, but a nice reminder of how much things had gone to shit.

He replayed the sound of the crunching glass as he climbed the few steps to the mirror that was mounted next to the bed.

In his cockier of moments Daario had thought the mirror a novel idea. A way for Daenerys to watch as he took her in all positions and every way. She would witness as she fell apart time after time with the tricks he had learned from countless whores and his gods’ given talents.

Nevertheless, he was incorrect about that too. It would no longer service his self absorbed delusions but be the beginning of his rejuvenation. Daario removed his dagger from his belt and assessed his appearance. He didn’t want to let all of his hard work of growing his hair out go to waste, but he certainly needed a cut. He ignored the bloodshot eyes that greeted him, the gaunt cheeks that haunted him and the shadows that taunted him. In the span of a year he had aged 10 years, but no matter, soon enough he would be as desirable and fuckable as ever. As he sliced the excess hair from his scalp, he imagined what else his dagger could do.

It had been far too long since he slit a throat or gutted someone with his arakh. Maybe it was time to revisit the deadlier aspects of his weapons and return to his sells word roots. He had the perfect targets in mind: the simpering Jon Snow and his redhead sister who was instrumental to Daenerys downfall.

_What is her name? Sanda, Sana, Sansa...Sansa Stark._

“Sansa Stark.” The name dripped from his tongue as languid as stirred honey. He had a new purpose and a reason to fight again. Thank you Jon Snow and Sansa Stark. I’ll have to book passage to the North to meet this Queen in the North and the Queenslayer for myself.

* * *

**Sansa Stark**

Maester Wolkan scuttled over to where Sansa sat behind her desk. Each link of his chain made a distinct ring as he stepped over the flagstones. His bearded face was passive and betrayed nothing of the yellow parchment he hunched over. Sansa put her quill down and set the accounts aside. She hoped that Wolkan’s visit would be brief as she wanted to finish tallying the crown’s expenses for the third month of her reign. But what preoccupied her the most was the nausea that crept in at the most inopportune of times.

She let out a heavy sigh and nodded for Wolkan to begin as he reached her.

“Your Majesty, I apologize for disturbing you at this late hour; especially when you are hard at work, but the letter seemed most urgent. It bears the royal seal of your brother. The raven that delivered the missive seemed rather...impatient for you to receive it. I will leave it with you. I bid you a good night and fruitful labors.”

Wolkan placed the message in her hands gingerly and backed away. He bowed respectfully and made to depart from the solar. Sansa’s fingers wrapped around the letter and felt the grainy material pucker beneath her skin, “Never apologize for doing your duty Maester. You are one of the only friendly faces remaining at Winterfell. With Jon, Bran, Arya and Brienne gone your company is very dear to me. It gets a bit lonely in this castle. I am always delighted to see you. Thank you for your promptness in dispensing Bran’s letter to me. Good night Maester. Rest well.” The Queen in the North gave Wolkan a sweet smile that spoke of her high regard for the man, and a hint of paternal affection for him.

Wolkan smiled slightly in return, and bowed once more. But he had one more thing to say before bidding his monarch a final farewell. “I feel the same way Your Majesty. Since you assumed the throne the North has begun to truly heal and prosperity will come soon enough. I value your company and if this is not too forward, I see you as the daughter I never had. But please excuse the ramblings of an aging man who is honored to be your Maester.

‘Before I leave, your Majesty, I promise you that Winterfell will not feel as empty forever. Soon enough we will have babe to fill the halls with its strong wails and joyous laughter. I urge you to not overextend yourself. It would not do for you to fatigue yourself or the baby. I left a tonic in your chambers that should alleviate any sickness you feel. If it proves insufficient, do not hesitate to send for me. A sleeping draught is always a trusty alternative.”

Sansa replied, “Thank you for your honesty and continued support. I could not lead this country without you to give me counsel and succor. I too look forward to when my child enters the world, if nothing else it will put a stop to how my stomach roils. And I am confident the tonic will do just fine. Have a restful evening Maester.”

The queen’s dismissal was clear but not without courtesy and fondness. Assured that Wolkan had done all he could as both an advisor and a friend, he left the room expediently. Sansa chuckled as she heard the jangle of his heavy chain recede until she could no longer detect it. Then she turned her attention to the letter in hand. Curious as to what its contents were she wasted no time in breaking the waxy seal and unrolling the scroll.

She had an inkling as to why the raven was so insistent about the missive. In all probability the raven was no simple avian, but a bird under direct command. The raven was a repository for her brother’s consciousness; he had warged into the beast’s mind. Hence it was logical to assume that the letter was of considerable import. She leaned back into her chair with one hand holding the letter aloft, and the other massaging her expanded belly.

_Dear sister, I have the unerring faith that the North is convalescing splendidly under your rule. And before you ask, no, I have not used the Sight. I simply know you well enough; know how capable you are and the love you have for the North. In time the North will reach its former state and mayahps even surpass it. However, this letter is not intended to be the congratulatory sort. There is urgent news to be shared: Daario Naharis is venturing to the North. The name probably means nothing to you. This makes sense because you have never heard of him before. Now it is imperative you know: he is a talented and vicious sell sword who swore Daenerys’ his undying fealty years ago. They were once lovers and she left the city of Meereen in his charge. Naharis’ love for Daenerys ran soul deep. He mourns the loss of her sorely._

_The reason for his travel is to kill both you and Jon Snow. It is his idea of exacting vengeance; retribution for the parts you and Jon played in Daenerys’ downfall. Do not be mistaken, I am not admonishing either of you, you both did the right thing and that cannot be denied. But you mustn’t underestimate the skills of this man. Double your guard and remain vigilant. He will arrive from White Harbor in 3 months time. By then your pregnancy will have advanced to a more vulnerable and obvious stage, do not let him take advantage of this. Use your own gifts and talents to monitor him and control the playing field._

_You are a master of the game of thrones, use this to your benefit. Chaos is not a pit, but a ladder, create chaos for this scoundrel. Remember the lessons you have learned in both the political aspect and magical aspect of manipulation.You have the power of the First Men and Children of the Forest within you. I have the utmost faith you will triumph in keeping yourself and the babe safe. Your child will live to see its first day and night. Daario does not know that Jon is already dead or that you carry his babe inside you. Use this to your advantage as well._

_Be wise and be confident. I will contact you immediately if I learn anything more. I believe in you, remember that you have the entire North, Jon’s memory and Arya’s obstinance behind you. With all my love._

_Brandon Stark_

_Lord of the Six Kingdoms_

_King of the Andals_

_Protector of the Realm_

_The Three Eyed Raven_

Sansa felt ready to be sick for a reason other than her pregnancy, but she couldn’t let her fear get the best of her. Nobody would hurt her ever again. 


	2. Soar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa Stark reminisces and ponders on the state of her affairs. The Queen in the North has escaped her golden aviary to take flight, and Daario Naharis will fly too, but through different means: a sea galley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this several months back, but decided to take it down for some cleaning up and extension. I hope it is better than before.

**Sansa Stark**

She had wished against all reason for sleep, unmolested by the persistent night terrors and fears that picked at her tenuous peace. Her dreams were an esurient crow, pecking at choice carrion. After composing her letter to Meera Reed she felt the trials of the day finally weighing on her. But she was wrong, sleep would evade her efforts.

For the first month of her reign she had been able to remain awake well into the night and sustain her energies on a few hours of sleep. Her productivity had never been better, and she wanted to mark her reign as one of tireless work and progress. She would be a better queen than Cersei or Daenerys; she had to be.

If she delegated all of the work to servants and advisors, she would become just as ravingly mad as the only other queens she had as a reference point. She would not become complacent, a pawn in the Game of Thrones once more. Neither would she be apathetic to the plights of her people; no matter how dire their straits. Sansa would not let herself become passive and give in to fatigue when her people were straining more than she ever would.

But by the beginning of the second month she learned her womb was quickening and that Jon had died. The symptoms that accompanied her pregnancy rendered her perpetually on edge. She was terrified of anyone besides Maester Wolkan discovering her secret. It could bring her and the kingdom to ruin if her enemies learned of her condition.

Her babe could die long before it took its first breath. And she wouldn’t stand for her little blessing manipulated or harmed. The child was all she had left of Jon.

Jon’s passing and the pregnancy were not the least bit expected. Sansa was so sure that she was unable to produce children, her fertility beneath Ramsay’s cruelty. The bastard of the Dreadfort had an abominable affinity for knives and derived great joy from the pain they wrought. Ramsay took a sadistic interest in seeing how far he could push Sansa, including mutilating the most intimate parts of her. The scar tissue was considerable and further she feared she had drunk so much Moon Tea that conception was impossible.

Moreover, Jon was of the same mind following his resurrection. He even admitted that he thought himself little more than half alive. He didn’t sleep or truly need to eat. If he had truly passed on into the realm of the dead, how could he return with the capacity to beget life through his seed?

Their dalliance had been for a single night: cathartic release to calm their frayed nerves and consummate the attraction that would never truly bloom. It had been amorous and ill advised, both of them beyond randy at the time But they had only proceeded because they believed a child to be unattainable.

Neither of them would be parents, the Stark line would die with them. But it appeared the Old Gods had devised another fate for House Stark: an heir would be conceived before Jon would return to the grave permanently.

_It was rotten ice that proved to be Jon’s undoing; anticlimactic for such a hardened man as himself. He expected to perish in battle, fighting for what he cherished the most, but he managed to survive all of the skirmishes, wars and massacres that he had a hand in. It wasn’t the Night King, Queen Cersei or even the Dragon Queen, but decayed rime. Frost that held a glamour of sturdiness, it seemed strong enough to bear the weight of several men._

_If only Jon had seen the treachery beyond the shimmering ice, he would have lived to know that they had created something preposterous together. A child had been born from their coupling and there was a future for their family._

_Oh Jon! My Jon! If only we knew. I never would have let you go, you would be right here beside me to witness our son or daughter grow within my womb. We would both have seen a miracle, a dream that we so shunned for fear of disappointment! How could I let you go?_

“I’m so alone here!” she called out into the night to be swallowed up by the darkness. Her outburst was gentler than she anticipated, a mere shade of her true torment.

_But alas, she couldn’t submit to self-pity, she would not surrender to demons of her own handiwork. She had more to live for than ever before, and if she never slept, the world her child was born into would be just as it was now: scorched by Dragonfire and struggling to stave off starvation. I need to try._

Sansa slowly rose from her chair. She felt all the muscles in her body grow taut and lengthen as she took a moment to stretch her weary arms above her head. Her crown lay discarded at the corner of her desk, the Queen in the North became tired of how cumbersome it was, and the strain it placed upon her knotted neck. The dyad of direwolves curled around each other in a lupine tangle glowed softly in the light cast by the sputtering candles and singed braziers.

Sansa groaned and tilted her head left to right in order to alleviate the tension balled up. She winced upon hearing the snap of tendons struggling to right themselves. She stood to the side of her chair until the rigidity bled from her body, and then entered through and locked the door to her private chambers.

Her eyes had grown infinitely heavier as she pondered Jon’s demise and the simple mortality of living in the present age. It was an indubitable sign that she couldn’t ward off slumber any longer.

She decided that it was more trouble than it was worth to fight the embittered battle of undressing. Sansa hadn’t the will to undo the fastenings on her back or grapple with her wool stockings, shift, petticoat; not to mention her over layers. She immediately moved to the great bed and shoved aside the furs to burrow down into the padding. Splendidly she had foregone any elaborate hair arrangements at the beginning of the day and needn’t worry about the many coils and twists that defined her braids. They would not get in the way of a night’s rest.

Slowly she lowered herself down and melted into the ample blankets. Sansa groaned inaudibly with the effort required of the movement, but sighed in relief when the plush fleece and pelts caressed her back. Her eyes drooped and the configurations of her quarters blended together into a shapeless mass. Delineations between stone, wood, fire, parchment and fabric dwindled to an encompassing soup of light and shadow.

The Queen in the North fell asleep with the names Daario and Jon alternating performances on the stage of her tongue. One was spoken with unbridled adortion and the other mired in contempt, but the barrier between love and hate is as capricious as the erratic whims of the Winter Winds.

* * *

**The Soaring One**

_She sailed high above the arid cityscape, the breeze propelling her onward and upward. The rays of the sun sunk into her feathers and warmed them. Their light bounced off of her butterscotch wings and seeped through the cracks between her down falling to the city._

_Her beak clucked open and close. A solid pop that resounded throughout the cloudless sky. She supposed it was her futile attempt at a laugh, but her present form was incompatible with laughter. It didn’t matter! She was free to soar through the air currents and safe from all of those who would see her caged!_

_She dove deeply and felt the air seethe through her bronze plumage, gently undulating them to and fro. She could see everything from up here! The scent of the sea perfumed everything, making the moment savorable._

_I only wish that I knew I could do this sooner! I could have been my own salvation, entirely independent of the men I was forced to rely upon. My right to choose had been taken away! I had no control over who I was married, where I lived or even what I ate, but not anymore! I am free, and I can now view the world as Bran has for years. In the end both of us learned to fly!_

_The King of the Six Kingdoms and Queen in the North could take to the sky whenever they wanted; impossibly vast was their domain!_

_She then switched her trajectory upward and felt weightless as she ascended. At first, sudden changes in level and direction had frightened her horribly. But with time she became accustomed to her new form and revealed in all the sensations attached to it. Shape changing had been a jarring experience, even more so startling than learning of her pregnancy. It was the day that she was informed of Jon’s death and she was overtaken with raw emotion. In her grief she had dug her nails into her palms, inconsolable. The soft flesh split violently and blood flowed from the exposed sinew._

_She wanted to lash out and scratch! Fly and escape! Anything but stay stationary, a victim of life’s cruelties. Her bones snapped like timber popping with sparks and her appendages withdrew inward and diminished in size. She screamed! She called out with such fury the very walls of Winterfell shook._

_From her skin sprouted downy remiges that broadened as she flapped the retrices of her tail and the plumule that kept her warm:her avian form. Her mouth protruded and bent to accommodate the formation of her adamantine beak. Sansa’s gown ripped to shreds and her slippers burst at every seam._

_Once the transformation finished Sansa propelled herself through the open window and flung herself into the light of day._

_Since Sansa first unlocked her powers she had sent dozens of panicked letters to Bran begging for help. She had no working theory of how magic worked and had never wanted Bran to elaborate on his powers. The queen in the north long ago gave up on the idea that spells and enchantments made flesh. She had always been the most ordinary of the Stark children, a mere fixture of her father’s offspring. Even Bran despite their similar dispositions had inherited abilities from the First Men, and even further back._

_The North had never manifested itself in her as proudly in mind or spirit like the other Starks of her generation. Sansa was neither valiant nor strong like her brother Robb, feral and passionate like Arya, or unwavering and honorable like Jon. Still her youngest brother Rickon was as wild and focused as the Direwolf sigil of House Stark._

_Yet somehow, after all of this time Sansa had been blessed with a sign that she was as true a Northerner Stark as her siblings and cousin._

_Thankfully Bran was equipped with all of the information she needed and under his diligent tutelage she began to study the Old Ways. Any moment that she had free was dedicated to research of the mystical variety, everything was fair game: the Children of the Forest, blood magic, skin changing, and the unhinged Danelle Lothston of Harrenhal._

_Armed with every reference and written exploration of the “higher mysteries” Sansa was able to deduce a rough understanding of what she could do. And though the metamorphosis was harrowing, she came out stronger for it. She could now make company of the most distant stars and reach the nebulous heavenly palaces as she climbed up with every gale and gust._

_Returning her attention to the present moment Sansa basked in the warm glow of the summer Sol._

_Eventually, the heat was too much for Sansa and she flew downward to cool off above the waters of Slaver’s Bay. She had almost reached the turquoise sheets that writhed within the stony confine of the harbor when she heard whistling._

_The noise was shrill and agitating, it carried on the sea breeze and found its home in Sansa’s ears. Even the feathers that guarded her earholes against unpleasant and distracting sounds couldn’t deter the whistling. Sansa ceased flying, and elected to hover in the air. Her wing beats sent sorrel dust and chunks of gravel outward, disturbing their rest on the stone pathways of Meereen._

_She turned her head in appraisal and searched for the blasted creature that was responsible for the agitating trill. None of the people around her were making any noise, all of their lips hammered into a thin and grim line. There was no joviality spilling from parted lips. Countless Tyroshi seamen, Summer Islander vendors and Dothraki warlords pounded past her._

_The Lady of Winterfell was about to call off the hunt when the racket started up heartier and more intrusive than before. A tan and well built man with chestnut hair and beard, apparel of assorted leathers and silks and a domineering swagger was advancing toward her. He seemed the only one intrigued by her appearance in Meereen, and this put her on edge. The intensity with which the man regarded her was unnerving, and Sansa was overtaken with panic._

_She began to take off when the stranger’s rough hand stroked her wing. He handled her with surprising tenderness and his eyes were wide with wonder._

_Sansa cooed without the consent of her conscious mind._

_How stupid am I? I need to leave now before his interest turns hostile or possessive._

_Nonetheless, Sansa couldn’t find it in herself to depart. She hadn’t experienced such reverence in so long, and she was dense enough to lap up the attention!_

_The man verbalized the curiosities that had taken his imagination captive, “Where did you come from? I have never seen a gyrfalcon this far east. How bloody fitting. Perhaps I’m in need of a new traveling companion. What do you say?” He then chuckled deeply, the muscles in his neck and jaw dancing languidly._

_Sansa listened to the man’s sonorous voice and he held her scrutiny at bay. But his final words reminded her of peril she had unwittingly invited. She couldn’t be confined to a gilded gaze again! She wouldn’t stand for it!_

_Sansa shook off the man’s grip and reared forward, talons flared to deliver punishment. Her claws hooked into the meat of his right hand and slashed downward to leave scarlet ribbons in her wake. The men then grunted in hurt and doubled over to cradle his injured hand in the palm of his other._

_She registered a vile curse before she flitted away with all her might. - Sansa woke to fingers slick with gore. -_

**Daario Naharis**

“What in the Seven Hells?” Daario called out. He bent his head and took his mutilated hand in his parched mouth and sucked up some of the crimson from his sundered palm. He detected a faint taste of dust and sweat and felt the bristles of his beard rub against his tried and true callouses.

Daario spit out the tincture of blood and saliva that aggregated on the tip of his tongue. A disgusted growl followed the iron taste. He may have had a knack for spilling blood, but he was never keen on tasting the swill.

That damn bird! It had lanced through his dominant hand like it was melty butter! That gyrfalcon better have flown a hell far away, or he would be plucking its feathers off and roasting it on a spit when he reached Westeros. Gyrfalcons were native to the North and that was where he was setting sail on the dilapidated and crusty, yet hopefully steady passenger galley bobbing and weaving in the harbor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the long wait, but your comments have been nothing short of a godsend. I cannot thank you enough and I hope that this chapter was a decent follow up to the first chapter. I'll be back soon! <3

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't really know what the hell this is. However, I am also as excited as hell. This is a really rare pairing and I am super excited to explore it!
> 
> This will be a lot grittier and different from my other stories but please give it a chance. It will be 20,000 words as that feels the right length to cover this narrative. 
> 
> DaarioxSansa


End file.
